


You Start to Grow Wings

by FagurFiskur



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, Case Fic, Endgame Castiel/Dean Winchester, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Miscommunication, Movie References, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Self-Discovery, Teen Dean Winchester, Time Skips, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-06-28 15:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19815562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FagurFiskur/pseuds/FagurFiskur
Summary: Dean feels his face warm up, suddenly all too aware that he’s sitting right next to his very male friend. He can’t make himself look over, too nervous that he’ll catch Eli’s eye and make this whole experience even more excruciatingly awkward. He wants to leave, but he also doesn’t wanna call attention to how uncomfortable he is.He’s known gay people exist of course, but he’s never seen them outside of Very Special Episodes on sitcoms. Never seen something so explicitly, in-your-face gay.*At seventeen, Dean falls for another man for the first time. Twenty years later they happen to meet again and things are somehow much more complicated.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the results of my not being able to stop thinking about My Own Private Idaho. Title is from a line in the movie that's pretty homophobic in context but I'm not the first to notice that it's a nice metaphor for being in love/infatuated once removed from that context. This chapter is set pre-series and is only Dean/OMC, Dean/Cas happens in the next chapter.
> 
> Spoilers for My Own Private Idaho and big thanks to avyssoseleison for reading through this.

They’ve been in Lincoln High, Des Moines for three days and Dean is already bored out of his mind. The classes are a drag, the teachers clearly couldn’t care less, and the students don’t have anything better to do than give each other shit and gossip about the weird new arrival. 

If Dean had his way, he’d be done with it all, but he’s not eighteen yet and Dad won’t let him drop out. Dean suspects that’s mostly to keep up appearances that their family is some kind of normal.

Whatever. At least no one seems to notice or care that Dean keeps cutting classes to go smoke outside. 

It’s unseasonably warm and Dean is wearing his leather jacket - his only jacket not currently falling apart at the seams - so he seeks shelter in the shade underneath the bleachers. The bell rung a few minutes ago and Dean should be the only one out but once he reaches his destination, he discovers he’s not alone.

It’s another senior, someone Dean vaguely recognizes from homeroom. He’s tall and slender, with dark, shoulder-length hair and a crooked nose that looks like it might have been broken before. He’s wearing a flannel shirt on top of a graphic tee, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth as he eyes Dean curiously.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is hoarse and deeper than Dean had expected. “Need a light?”

Dean shrugs, stuffing both hands in his pockets as he walks closer. He really wasn’t looking for company right now but he doesn’t wanna give this guy the idea that he chased him off.

“Sure.”

He accepts a lighter from the stranger and pulls out a cigarette, feeling those curious eyes still on him as he lights it. They’re dark, Dean can tell now that he’s closer, but he can’t make out the color.

“You’re the new guy, right?” the stranger asks.

Dean shrugs again, aware that the other boy is waiting for him to offer a name.

After a few moments, he gives up. “What’s your name?”

“Dean.”

He doesn’t ask for a name in return. Either the guy gives it or not; Dean’s not trying to be his friend.

“I’m Eli,” he offers after a beat. 

Dean takes a drag of his cigarette and doesn’t respond but this Eli guy is apparently more stubborn than he looks.

“Where are you from?” he asks.

“Kansas,” Dean replies, because it’s the easiest answer to give.

“Can you say more than one word at a time?” 

Dean smirks. “Sure.”

Eli rolls his eyes but he finally stops talking. They keep smoking in slightly awkward silence, eyeing each other every once in a while. Dean can’t get a read on the guy, can’t figure out why he’s so interested in talking to Dean. Maybe it’s just a way to pass the time. Maybe he’s just as bored as Dean is. 

Eli finishes his cigarette first, throwing the butt on the ground and putting it out underneath his heel. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

Dean nods, watching Eli’s back as he walks away. 

The next day is cool and overcast. Dean heads for the bleachers when he goes out for a smoke anyway. It’s a secluded area, if nothing else.

Eli is already there. He nods at Dean when he approaches but doesn’t try to talk to him this time. He does pull out his lighter, though, and Dean accepts it even though he’s got his own in his jean pocket.

They smoke in silence. Once, their eyes meet, and Dean looks away feeling inexplicably awkward. Eli grins at him and Dean can’t help but feel like he lost at something.

During their second week in Des Moines, a blonde cheerleader walks up to Dean in the hallway and asks him out. She’s bold about it, looking him straight in the eye and introducing herself as Katie Wheeler. She then tells him that he’s taking her out tonight.

Dean agrees. He’s not used to guys being interested in him but he’s had plenty of attention from girls in the past couple of years and by now he knows how to handle it.

Dad is out on a hunt but he left the Impala behind, so Dean picks Katie up from her house. They go see a movie, some chick flick that Dean doesn’t really pay attention to. Katie takes his hand ten minutes in and when he leans in for a kiss, she eagerly responds.

As they leave the movie theater, Dean notices some kids their age loitering by the rear entrance. It takes him just a moment to spot Eli, with his arm slung around the shoulders of a curvy little redhead.

Dean puts his own arm around Katie’s waist and leads her back to the Impala.

They take the long way back home.

“Who was the redhead?”

They’re underneath the bleachers again. The silence between them is becoming comfortable, almost familiar. That must be what lulled Dean into this false sense of security that had him blurting out such a stupid question.

Eli glances at Dean. “Were you spying on me?”

At least he sounds amused about it and not creeped out.

“Saw you outside the movie theater.”

“Hm.”

The non-answers are starting to piss Dean off. Even then, he’s aware that he kind of had them coming.

“She was hot.”

“Weren’t you on a date with Katie Wheeler?”

Dean smirks. “Now who’s spying?”

“Whatever, everyone’s talking about it.”

That catches Dean off guard. “They are? Why?”

Eli scoffs. His cigarette hangs limp between his fingers, gone out. He doesn’t seem to have noticed.

“C’mon, man, you know you’ve got the whole hot and mysterious new guy thing going for you. Of course people are gonna be interested when you hook up with one of the most popular girls in our class.”

There is too much wrong with that sentence for Dean to process. But most importantly, “Did you just call me hot?”

Eli’s eyes widen. “No.”

He’s blushing, Dean notices. It’s faint, but it’s there.

“You did!”

“Well, so what?” Eli asks.

He’s looking Dean in the eye and even with his cheeks slowly turning pinker he manages to look challenging. Dean isn’t sure exactly _what_ the challenge is but it’s throwing him off-kilter. He manages a shrug that he hopes looks casual.

Finally, Eli looks away.

“It’s Marcie.”

Dean blinks. “What?”

“The redhead I was with. Her name’s Marcie.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“Yeah, she is.”

A couple of days later, Katie finds them underneath the bleachers. She spares one glance at Eli before turning her attention to Dean.

“It’s almost lunch. You should come sit with us.”

She doesn’t tell him who ‘us’ is. She doesn’t like to explain herself in general; mostly, she seems to expect Dean to do what she says because she says it.

“I’m kind of busy,” Dean tells her, even though he’s blatantly not. He and Eli aren’t smoking, or even talking. They’re just sitting there.

Katie purses her lips. “You’ve got better things to do than hang out with this loser. Now come on.”

Anger bursts in Dean’s chest, hot and unexpected. He looks over at Eli, who is staring at the ground. Dean can’t read the expression on his face but his shoulders are stiff.

“Like I said,” Dean says, turning back to Katie, “I’m busy.”

For a moment, they just stare at each other.

“Fine,” Katie bites out. “See if I care.”

She leaves.

Dean has a feeling there’s not gonna be another date.

“Thanks,” Eli says quietly.

Dean shrugs. The gratitude in Eli’s voice makes him uncomfortable. All Dean did was not completely blow him off.

“No problem.”

That Friday, Eli invites Dean to a party at his girlfriend’s house. It’s the first party Dean has been invited to, not that he’s gonna tell anyone that. He isn’t sure what to expect, other than what he’s seen in movies.

Sam is sitting by the TV as Dean gets ready to go out, watching a _Back to the Future_ marathon. A part of Dean kind of wants to stay and watch it with him instead of going to some stranger’s house to drink with a bunch of people he doesn’t know. He would, but there’s nothing lamer than a seventeen year old choosing to stay in with their kid brother over going to a party. And he did promise Eli he’d come.

As Dean shrugs on his jacket, Sam looks up from the TV.

“Are you gonna drink?” he asks.

Dean checks his hair in the mirror by the door, unsure of why it even matters to him what he looks like. “None of your business.”

“It stunts your brain, you know.”

“Good thing I don’t need it, then.” Dean turns to Sam. “Remember the rules?”

Sam rolls his eyes so empathetically, Dean’s surprised he doesn’t strain them. “Don’t let anyone in, don’t answer the phone unless it’s you or Dad, don’t touch the guns unless it’s an emergency.”

“Atta boy.” Dean ruffles Sam’s hair, snorting when Sam smacks his hand away. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Whatever.” Sam turns his attention back to the TV. “I can take care of myself.”

No, Dean knows he definitely can’t, but he’s not gonna say that out loud.

The party blows.

It would probably be better if Dean could get wasted like everyone else but he can’t. Not with Dad out of town and Sam alone back at the motel. 

He sees Eli once, briefly, but then some people he doesn’t know drag him away to the basement and Dean isn’t invited to follow so he stays put. The first floor is crowded too, so he walks around a bit, holding tightly onto his mostly empty cup. 

He flirts with a couple of girls but one of them wanders off when she spots her friends and the other almost pukes on his shoes. He manages to turn her at the last minute, diverting the spew of vomit at a potted plant instead.

“Ugh,” she groans once she’s finished, wiping her mouth. “I’m so, so freaking sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Dean says, patting her back awkwardly. “Think that was it?”

“I think so.” The girl straightens, blanching and grabbing onto Dean’s shoulder for balance. “Uh-oh.”

Yeah, Dean shouldn’t have come.

He directs the girl through the crowded living room. The bathroom on the first floor is locked and there’s a long line outside, so Dean brings her upstairs, watching worriedly from the corner of his eye as her face grows paler and sweatier.

The bathroom upstairs is closed but not locked. Dean swings the door open, cursing when he realizes it’s still occupied. Eli’s redheaded little girlfriend is sitting on the counter, legs wrapped around the waist of some guy Dean doesn’t recognize as they make out furiously.

Dean opens his mouth – to apologize, or to tell them to take it elsewhere, he’s not sure – but before any of them can get a word out, the girl at his side doubles over.

This time, she does throw up on his shoes.

“I barely saw you on Friday.”

Dean hums, busying himself with his lighter to avoid looking up. He’d left right after getting thrown up on. Eli had still been in the basement at that point, while his girlfriend was upstairs making out with another guy.

This is the kind of crap Dean hates about high school. The pointless drama, getting tangled up in it just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He and Eli might be on friendly terms but they aren’t exactly friends, and Dean has no idea how he’d react if he told him about his girlfriend cheating. He even considered going to class this morning or at least avoiding the bleachers for today, just to put off having to decide.

He’d gone in the end, but only because he hasn’t had a smoke all weekend and he could seriously use it.

“Hey,” Eli says, nudging Dean’s foot with his. “You okay?”

Dean looks up. He grins half-heartedly. “Sure. I just– I had to leave early. Some chick threw up on my shoes.”

Eli makes a face. “That sucks.”

“Yeah.” Dean steels himself. He can’t stand this awkwardness anymore, it’s time to just rip the band aid off. “I tried to get her to the bathroom but your girlfriend was in there already. She, uh… she wasn’t alone.”

“My girlfr-” Eli stops himself short. Then, inexplicably, he smiles. “You mean Marcie?”

“Um, yeah.”

Then he’s _laughing_. Dean frowns, seriously confused now.

“Marcie’s not my girlfriend,” Eli explains. “We just hang out sometimes. The guy she was with was probably Tom Murray, they’re always hooking up at parties.”

Dean huffs. He knows he should be relieved – and he is – but he also feels like an idiot for worrying about this all weekend. If he’d only stuck around on Friday, instead of storming off like _he_ was the one who got cheated on, he would have known that.

“Okay, cool,” he mutters. “Guess that solves that then.”

Eli’s smile softens. “Thanks for telling me.”

Dean doesn’t respond. He has no idea what to do with Eli always thanking him for crap that’s hardly worth mentioning. Especially something like this, where he didn’t even need to do anything.

That Thursday, Eli invites Dean to the movies. Marcie and that Tom guy will be there too, which Dean secretly thinks will be awkward, but he says yes anyway. At least he’s got more experience going to the movies than parties.

Or at least, that’s what he thinks.

Then it turns out Marcie wants to see some old artsy movie at an independent theater. The kind that serves wine and coffee instead of popcorn and has black-and-white posters for movies Dean has never heard of lining the walls.

“It’s not _old_ , it came out like five years ago,” Marcie protests when Dean complains. “And it’s R-rated, I thought guys were into that.” She smiles at him, sardonic and smug like she’s telling some joke only she understands. “You might even see a nipple or two.”

Dean rolls his eyes but he stops complaining. It’s not worth arguing with her, not when it’s obvious both Eli and Tom will back her up.

They sit at the back of the theater. They seem to be the only people there, which doesn’t surprise Dean. It’s six PM on a Thursday and they’re watching an old indie movie for fuck’s sake. What kind of a title is _My Own Private Idaho,_ anyway?

The previews start – not regular previews, but ones for European movies, some artsy crap, and even one for a jazz festival. Dean looks over at his companions, frowning when he sees that Marcie and Tom have already started making out.

Eli nudges him. “C’mon, let’s move. I don’t wanna sit next to this for two hours.”

They move a couple of rows up front, sitting down again just as the movie is starting. Dean fiddles with his thumbs in his lap, wishing he could have least bought some popcorn. If he falls asleep during this movie, he’s blaming Marcie, who even though she picked it clearly isn’t interested enough to actually watch it.

The first scene is a guy with narcolepsy falling asleep on some road in the middle of nowhere.

The second scene is that same guy receiving a blowjob.

From another man.

Dean feels his face warm up, suddenly all too aware that he’s sitting right next to his very _male_ friend. He can’t make himself look over, too nervous that he’ll catch Eli’s eye and make this whole experience even more excruciatingly awkward. He wants to leave, but he also doesn’t wanna call attention to how uncomfortable he is.

He’s known gay people exist of course, but he’s never seen them outside of Very Special Episodes on sitcoms. Never seen something so explicitly, in-your-face _gay_.

The guy in the movie is getting paid for that blowjob, which doesn’t make it any better. It actually makes it a lot worse.

Dean’s been offered money for sex. Not that he’s ever taken it, or even thought about taking it, but it’s happened. Mostly it’s gross old guys at truck stops or on the streets late at night. They usually make some comment about Dean’s lips as well that makes him wanna scrub his brain with bleach. He would rather starve than have to touch those men.

The movie keeps going and it doesn’t get any less uncomfortable. Dean doesn’t move, doesn’t look in Eli’s direction, so he isn’t sure if he’s alone in feeling this way. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, curls them into fists and focuses on the feeling of his nails digging into the palm of his hand.

It’s twenty minutes in that Dean realizes, to his horror, that he kind of relates to the main character, Mike. This sad, lonely guy so desperate for money he’ll resort to selling himself, who keeps flashing back to his only happy memories of a long gone mother and home. It’s like looking in a funhouse mirror, seeing a distorted image of who he might become if he ever finds himself completely on his own.

Then, halfway through the movie, Mike sits by a fire with his best friend and tells him he’s in love with him.

Dean stops breathing.

It’s at that moment that Eli’s knee bumps against his own.

Neither one of them moves.

For the next hour, they stay like that, with that point of contact between them. Dean swears can feel the warmth radiating from Eli, even through two layers of clothing. It’s all he can focus on.

By the end of the movie, Mike is alone and abandoned, falling asleep on another road and getting robbed by strangers. Dean watches with a tight feeling in his chest that only loosens slightly as an unseen someone pulls up next to Mike and drags him into their car, driving off.

The credits start rolling and Eli pulls his knee away.

“That,” he breathes out, “was some bullshit.”

Dean startles, finally turning to look at Eli. “What?”

“Y’know.” Eli gestures at the screen. “Mike ending up alone. Scott just bailing on him, leaving him to rot in the gutter while he inherits his dad’s fortune.”

Dean can’t think of what to say. He agrees but it feels weird saying it out loud. Like he was rooting for those two men to get together or something.

Eli stretches in his seat and then stands. He looks around the theater. “They’re gone. You wanna grab a bite?”

“…Sure.”

There’s a diner just down the street from the theater. They sit down in a booth, order a burger and fries each. Dean spreads on his side of the booth, jiggling his foot and staring out the window. He just wants this awkward feeling to fade away. He doesn’t wanna have to think about gay people existing, or why the fact that they do exist makes him so uncomfortable.

He doesn’t wanna think about Mike, or how he relates to him, or how his best friend Scott kind of looks like Eli. If you squint and picture Eli as a complete asshole.

“So?” Eli leans against his elbows on the table. “What did you think?”

It was _gay_ , Dean wants to shout. What else about it matters?

“It was okay,” he finally says. “Kind of sad.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I didn’t think Scott would turn out to be such a dick. And he was completely bullshitting himself with that gay-for-pay shit.”

Dean looks away from the window. It’s dark outside and all he can see are his and Eli’s reflections anyway. “You think so?”

“Definitely. I mean, it’s not like he needed the money. The other guys all did, he was just doing it because he wanted to have sex with men and needed an excuse.”

“But he ended up with that Italian chick,” Dean points out.

Eli shrugs. “So he wasn’t, like, entirely gay. He was still kind of gay, just not in love with Mike.”

“Wasn’t he?”

Dean says it without meaning to. He bites his tongue, feeling shocked at himself for blurting it out loud, but Eli just looks mildly curious.

“You think he was?”

“Maybe, yeah.” Dean looks down at the table, brushes away imaginary crumbs. “Maybe it was like the gay thing, and he was in denial about it.”

Eli hums thoughtfully but doesn’t say anything in response.

The waitress arrives with their burgers and fries. They eat in silence, the meal passing in a blur. Before Dean knows it, they’ve finished eating and have paid for their food.

The air is cool when they step outside. It’s been raining and the streets are wet, which gives Dean an excuse to stare at the ground as they walk to avoid puddles.

“Would you do it?” Eli asks, out of the blue. “Have sex with other guys for money, I mean.”

Dean thinks about it.

He thinks about those gross old men at the truck stops, with their filthy offers that make Dean feel like he did something wrong, just for looking the way he does. Then he thinks about the few times he actually has had sex, all of them with the same girl.

Her name was Heather and she didn’t known he was a virgin but she was patient with him anyway. She took his hand and showed him where to touch her. They barely knew each other but when they were together it was intimate and loving and just theirs.

He thinks about how it would have felt if she had handed him a wad of cash afterwards.

“No,” he says. “I wouldn’t ever wanna get paid for sex.”

“But you’d do it for free?”

Dean stops walking. He suddenly realizes that they’ve taken a couple of turns since they left the diner and the street they’re in now is completely empty. Eli turns around when he notices that Dean is no longer beside him. He looks different in the orange glow of the streetlights, or maybe there’s something off about his expression.

He can’t have been serious. Right?

“Well?” Eli takes a couple of steps closer. “Would you?”

He’s practically the same height as Dean. He’s never been close enough before for Dean to notice.

“Would you?” Dean shoots back.

Men have called Dean pretty. Eli must have gotten those kinds of comments too; he’s got plumper lips than Dean, a softer jawline. His eyes are big and dark, his eyelashes thick. It’s really only his nose that keeps his features from being completely feminine.

He’s so close now. Dean isn’t gonna back away, if Eli wants to get all up in his personal space then that’s his problem. Standing still isn’t gay.

“I asked first,” Eli says quietly. He’s close enough now that Dean can feel the breath hitting his face when he speaks.

Dean doesn’t have an answer. He’s forgotten the question. Eli is too close, smelling of aftershave and cigarette smoke, his eyes breaking contact with Dean’s only when they dart down to his lips.

Without thinking, Dean closes his eyes. He’s sure in the next moment that Eli will pull away and mock him for it, tell him that he was only teasing.

He doesn’t.

He kisses Dean.

Dean kisses him back.

Eli’s lips are soft and warm. It’s just like kissing a girl.

It’s nothing like kissing a girl.

In the distance, someone honks their car horn. Dean wrenches himself away with the sudden horrified realization that they are still outside and standing directly beneath a streetlight. Anyone could see them right now.

He jumps when Eli grabs his upper arm, bringing Dean’s attention back to him. He looks as nervous as Dean feels and for a moment, Dean is sure he’s about to apologize or to play the whole thing off as a joke.

Instead, he says, “My parents aren’t home.”

Dean’s mouth goes dry. Eli tugs at him and they start walking again. They don’t say anything else, nothing that indicates that Dean will come home with him, but when they pass the intersection where Dean would have to go the other direction, he doesn’t.

Eli’s home is on the second floor in a shabby apartment building. Dean stares at Eli’s back as he opens the doors and wonders just what the hell he’s doing. He feels outside of himself, like he’s watching someone else step into the apartment with Eli and shutting the door behind them, leaving them in complete privacy.

When Eli turns back to face him, Dean almost recoils. This isn’t him, what the fuck is he doing here.

“You want a smoke?” Eli asks.

It’s the first sane thing he’s said all evening.

“Yeah.”

They go into Eli’s bedroom. There’s an ashtray sitting on the windowsill above the bed and a carton of cigarettes next to it. They both sit down, their knees bumping as they sink slightly into the mattress. Dean ignores the way it makes his heart jump, accepts the cigarette and a light from Eli.

That first hit of nicotine soothes him, more from the familiarity of it than anything. Dean takes a long drag, watching the way Eli’s cheeks hollow as he does the same.

“Where are your parents?” Dean asks, just to have something to say.

“Mom’s got night shifts this week,” Eli answers. “And Dad’s been gone for a couple of years now so I’m not expecting him back tonight.”

“That sucks.”

Eli snorts. “Not really. He was a dick, I’m glad he’s gone.”

Dean blows out a cloud of smoke and says nothing. He can’t imagine having two living parents and not wanting them both around.

The cigarettes are old and burn up fast. Dean’s is down to a stub in a couple of minutes. Before he can put it down, Eli pries it gently from his fingers, extinguishing it on the ash tray. Then he takes Dean’s hand, tugs him closer. Dean lets him. It’s easier not to think, just to let Eli decide this for him.

They kiss again. It’s slow and lazy, eased by the familiarity between them. When Eli lies down, pulling Dean on top of him, Dean goes with it. He leans into the touch when Eli brings his hand up, cupping Dean’s cheek.

Dean isn’t sure how long they keep going. His lips are numb when they finally pull apart and arousal is simmering low in his gut. He glances at the alarm on Eli’s nightstand, heart sinking when he sees the time.

“I have to go,” he says.

Eli nods. He pulls away his hand, leaving the skin on Dean’s cheek warm and tingling. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Dean licks his lips. He has no idea what things will be like tomorrow. He’s almost afraid to leave this room, to have to actually think about what happened tonight.

But Sam’s alone in their motel room and Dean knows he’s not gonna be able to sleep soundly until he’s back.

“Yeah. See you then.”

Eli follows him to the door. They kiss one more time at the threshold and then Dean is outside, alone.

In the morning, he’s sure this will all hit him like a ton of bricks. But he’s not thinking about it tonight. Not dwelling on what it all means or what it makes him, or on anything but how soft Eli’s lips were and how good it felt to be held by someone.

Dean heads home, feeling light and giddy.

Like he’s just grown wings.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge, huge thanks to my best girl avyssoseleison for constant read-throughs and reassurances, and also for making sure that this turned out gay enough. This is the chapter with the Dean/Cas content, although there is still a lot of Dean/OMC.

“So get this.”

Dean rubs his eyes, reaching for his cup of coffee. They’ve been back at the bunker for more than a week so he gets that Sam is eager for a new case already but it’s way too early in the morning for him to be going ‘so get this’.

“There have been four attacks in Des Moines in the past couple weeks. All men in their thirties, all on their way home from the same bar, The Flamingo Longue. The first couple of guys got away with a few bruises but the third had his leg broken and the fourth was choked until he passed out.”

“Okay,” Dean says slowly. “So what makes this our kind of thing?”

Sam looks up from his laptop. “There was no attacker. Witnesses described the injuries appearing on the men spontaneously.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. So should we check it out?”

“Sure.” Dean takes a long sip of his coffee. “Just let me put on some pants first.”

They’re heading out a couple of hours later. Dean checks his phone – nothing. He shoots off a quick message to Cas, letting him know where they’ve gone in case he’d like to join up.

It’s been a few months since the last world-ending emergency but Cas still keeps going off on his own little angel adventures. Dean can’t remember the last time he stayed at the bunker for more than a couple of days.

Not that he’s counting.

Sam is already sitting in the Impala when Dean gets outside, going through his notes. He looks up when Dean gets in the driver’s seat.

“I called Mom,” he says. “She’s busy with a case in North Dakota right now but she said she’d check in once that’s wrapped up.”

“Cool.”

“It’s probably for the best.” Sam clears his throat. “The bar those guys were coming from when they were attacked – it’s a gay bar. And Mom… I mean, she died in the eighties. I don’t know if she’s gonna have the most enlightened view about that.”

Dean hums in agreement, trying to ignore the slight sinking of his stomach.

“Unless you’ve told her…”

Sam trails off and Dean wants to reach over and smack him. He’s always so cautious when it comes to Dean’s sexuality, like he might somehow break Dean by not being politically correct enough about it.

“No, I haven’t told her,” Dean says. “There’s nothing _to_ tell. It’s not like I have a,” he scoffs, “ugh, a boyfriend or something to bring home.”

Sam goes quiet.

Suspiciously quiet.

“Well… there’s Cas.”

“Whoa.” Dean holds up one hand. “Cas is not my-” He cuts himself off. He’s not saying that stupid, juvenile word again. “We are just friends.”

“Friends who have sex,” Sam mutters.

“Yeah, okay, friends who very occasionally have sex. Mom does not need to know about that.”

“U-huh.”

“Just shut up and tell me about the case.”

Dean can tell, even without looking, that Sam wants to point out the contradiction. To his credit, he doesn’t.

“We can get started on interviewing the witnesses and checking the police reports when we get to town. Once the bar opens, we can check it and the surrounding area for EMF. This sounds like it could be a standard haunting, but there’s also the possibility of witches.”

“Or fairies,” Dean adds. “Invisible attacks sounds like that case we worked in Moondoor.”

“Right.”

There’s a brief, uncomfortable silence. Then, Sam clears his throat.

“We’ve got five witnesses. Dennis Tate, Noah Jackson, Christian Perkins, Eli Evans, and Paul Matthews.”

Something pricks at Dean’s memory and it takes him a second to realize what.

“Did you say Eli Evans?”

Sam looks up from his notes. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“I think I know him. Can’t be too many guys with that name in Des Moines, right?”

“Probably not,” Sam agrees. “Wait, when were you in Des Moines?”

“We both were, back in ’96. We went to high school there for some of the fall semester. I hung out with Eli a couple of times.” Inexplicably, Dean feels his heart beating faster. “Mostly, we cut class together and smoked under the bleachers.”

Sam snorts. “You are such a stereotype.” He pauses. “Did you know he was gay?”

Dean coughs. Even with the few discussions (and they have been _few_ ) he’s had with Sam about liking dudes, he hasn’t ever mentioned Eli. Not that it hadn’t felt important enough to bring up. He’d just… wanted to keep it to himself.

“Um. Yeah.”

“Oh. Were you two…?”

“Yeah,” Dean mutters. Twenty years on, and he can barely say it out loud. Maybe it’s just been a secret too long.

Sam is quiet for a while, thankfully not prodding any further.

Finally, he says, “I could interview him by myself. We don’t both need to go.”

Dean thinks about it, staring ahead at the road stretching before them. It’s practically the same as any other road in the Midwest. In the entire fucking country. Dean could still recognize it in a heartbeat.

_There’s not another road anywhere that looks like this road._

Dean goes by himself.

He leaves Sam at the police station, agrees to be back in an hour or else call. On his way back to the car, he checks his phone for messages.

Still nothing.

He pockets it, stomping down his mounting frustration. If Cas isn’t answering, it’s because he can’t, not because he doesn’t want to. And he promised to check in on Saturday, which is tomorrow. Dean just needs to be patient. He can’t make him being needy into Cas’ problem.

Eli lives in a rowhouse close to the downtown area. It’s nicer than his childhood home, a well-kept building painted a cheery yellow, with big windows and flowerbeds out front. As Dean rings the doorbell, he notices that there’s only one name on it.

A man answers the door. At first Dean doesn’t recognize him – he’s got a full beard for one – but those eyes are unmistakable. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Everything he had been planning on saying has disappeared from his mind.

“Can I help you?”

Eli is looking at him strangely, like he’s trying to place him, and Dean’s heart sinks when he realizes that he might not even remember him. At least not well enough to recognize him.

He stands there wordlessly for a few agonizing moments, and then something shifts in Eli’s expression.

“Dean?”

Dean raises his hand in an awkward little wave. “Hey. Can I come in?”

Eli stares at him for another beat. “Uh, sure.”

They step inside. It’s just as well-kept and tidy as the outside. They enter into a spacious living room, with a small kitchen nook in the corner. Dean’s eyes are drawn to the row of potted plants on the windowsill, one of them with a little pride flag sticking out of the pot.

“Not that it isn’t nice to see you,” Eli says, “but what are you doing here?”

“This ain’t a social visit, I’m afraid.” Dean draws in a deep breath. Since he couldn’t very well play FBI for someone who knows him, he figured honesty would be the best policy. Now he’s not so sure, but it’s too late to turn back. “I’m here about the attacks that have been happening lately.”

“Oh.” Eli goes stiff. “Those.”

“Yeah.” Dean leans against the kitchen counter. “You told the police your friend’s leg snapped spontaneously.”

“Listen, I was drunk and it was dark. I didn’t know what I saw.”

“Yes, you did. You saw something the cops couldn’t explain, so they changed your story into something they could.”

Eli’s expression has gone flat, impossible to read. Dean took a gamble; you never know how someone is going to react to having their supernatural encounters validated. Some people don’t want to believe their own eyes over what the authorities tells them.

“What did I see?” Eli finally asks.

Dean draws a deep breath. This is it. “Probably either a ghost or witchcraft.”

Eli stares at him.

“Possibly a fairy,” Dean adds.

“You’re serious,” Eli says flatly.

“Hey, you know you saw something unnatural. I’m just giving you a list of the suspects.”

Eli nods to himself, running his hand through his beard. “Okay. Okay, I can’t believe it but I actually believe you.”

Relief floods Dean. “Really?”

“I mean, if you told me this five days ago I wouldn’t have. But… I do know what I saw. And there was no one there but Chris and I.” Eli crosses his arms. “But how’d you even find out about this? What are you, some kind of supernatural bounty hunter?”

Dean grins. “Something like that. Now, what can you tell me about the attack?”

“Cold spots, invisible attacker, flickering streetlights,” Dean rattles off as Sam gets in the car. “Sounds like a ghost to me.”

Sam nods. “Got that from the police reports as well. The victims were all attacked on the same corner just a few feet from the club, around the same time each night. A couple of witnesses even reported seeing a wispy figure appear and disappear.”

“So our spook’s not powerful enough to fully manifest.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Sam clears his throat. “You just interviewed him?”

“We’re on the job,” Dean reminds him, which is a deflection and he knows that Sam knows it. Neither one of them has exactly a stellar record when it comes to being professional, never mind when someone they know is involved in a case.

“Did you tell him who you were?”

Dean’s lip tugs in a pleased grin. “Didn’t have to, he recognized me.”

“Think you’re gonna see him again before we leave town?”

“I don’t know. I gave him my number, in case something comes up.”

Sam hums. “If something comes up, sure.”

This time, Dean does reach over and smacks him.

They arrive at The Flamingo Longue around nine that evening after a long day of interviewing the other witnesses, none of whom had any additional valuable information. It’s Friday night and Dean suspects that under regular circumstances the place would be crowded but as is, there are only about a couple of dozen people there.

As he’s scoping out the place with a vague plan of who to interrogate and how to go about it, he sees a familiar face at the bar.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Sam gives him a confused look. “What?”

“I’ll be right back,” Dean tells him and heads for the bar, not looking back to see Sam’s reaction.

Eli spots him from a few feet away, giving him an innocent smile that doesn’t fool Dean for one second. “Hey there.”

“What are you doing here?” Dean asks.

“Way to make a guy feel welcome,” Eli says dryly.

“This place isn’t safe right now, you know that. Are you looking to get attacked again?”

“To be fair, the first time it was Chris who got attacked and not me.” At Dean’s glare, Eli throws up his hands. “Look, I didn’t think it would hurt if you had some extra back-up. I may not be a – a hunter but I can hold my own in a fight.”

“Against a human opponent,” Dean points out. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with here. I do, I’ve done this hundreds of times, but I can’t do my job properly if I’m distracted.”

Eli grins. “I distract you?”

Dean scoffs, flustered despite himself. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Eli just gives him a look. Dean is saved from further embarrassment by his phone ringing. He fishes it out of his pocket, feeling an odd swooping sensation in his stomach when he sees Cas’ name on the screen.

“I gotta take this,” he says to Eli, taking a few steps away before answering. “Hey.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, voice sounding distant and canny through the phone. He is also being drowned out by the crappy dance music playing in the bar, so Dean heads for the back exit.

Once he’s outside, the cool air clears his head a little. “Long time, no hear.”

“I apologize,” Cas says. “I’ve been… out of reach. One of my brothers contacted me and needed my help.”

“Figures,” Dean mutters. “Why is it that when your family isn’t trying to kill you, it’s because they need you for something?”

“That isn’t fair,” Cas says, and there’s a lot Dean could say to that but he’s not gonna bother. He doesn’t wanna get into another argument with Cas about his guilt complex or his eternal, fruitless quest for redemption.

“Whatever. Think you’ll be home soon?”

“I’m on my way out of Minnesota. I could come to Des Moines, if you still need help with the case.”

Dean thinks about it, pictures Eli and Cas meeting, and feels a guilty pang in his chest. Which is stupid, because what does he have to feel guilty about? Nothing has happened with Eli and it isn’t like he and Cas are a couple, anyway.

“Nah, we’ve got it covered,” he says.

There’s a brief silence on the other end.

“I’m sorry for the way I left,” Cas finally says and hell no, Dean is not getting into this right now.

“You don’t have to-”

“I should have woken you up,” Cas continues. “I realized it after I left, but you were sleeping so peacefully and I didn’t want to-”

“Seriously,” Dean cuts in. “You don’t have to apologize, I’m fine. You were leaving either way so what does it matter how you did it?”

“You don’t sound-”

“Cas.”

Cas shuts up.

“I’m fine,” Dean repeats. “Can we just – not?”

“…Alright,” Cas says. “If that’s what you want.”

The backdoors open and Dean turns around, feeling that guilty pang in his chest again when Eli walks out.

“I’ll talk to you later,” he tells Cas and hangs up.

“Everything alright?” Eli asks.

Dean pockets the phone. “Fine. What are you doing here?”

“You were gone a while, I got worried.”

“I’m fine,” Dean says once again. “And I’ll be better once I know you’re home safe.”

Eli puts his hands on his hips and Dean is sure he’s about to get into his second argument of the evening when the streetlight above them begins to flicker. A chill runs down Dean’s spine but before he can react, an invisible force hits him square in the chest, sending him flying against a dumpster.

“Dean!” Eli shouts, running towards him.

He’s knocked off his feet and Dean can just barely make out a cloud of mist flickering out of view behind him as he falls. Dean gets to his feet, cursing himself for going out unprepared. This isn’t where the spirit has been attacking people but it’s close enough that he should have been ready for it.

Something closes around his throat and lifts him off the ground. Dean kicks his feet to no avail, clawing at his throat and feeling nothing but a dreadful cold. The mist begins to take shape before his eyes, a distorted face with a malicious sneer and a scrawny arm that shouldn’t have the strength to lift Dean like this.

He kicks again, limbs starting to feel weak from the lack of oxygen. Someone calls his name again and then the cold disappears from around his throat, dropping him back to the ground. Dean looks up to see Sam standing above him, an iron wrench in hand. He holds the other one out to Dean, pulling him to his feet.

They turn to Eli, still on the ground and staring around with wild eyes. The mist is forming above him but Sam is quicker, swinging at it again with the wrench. It dissipates and the three of them make a run for it, Dean grabbing Eli’s hand and pulling him back inside the bar.

The door shuts behind them with a heavy thud and for a moment, they stand around breathlessly, waiting for the spirit to reappear. When it doesn’t, they let out a sigh of relief.

Dean glances at Eli, who has a gash on his forehead and seems pretty shaken up but otherwise fine. “You okay?”

Eli pats himself over, as if reassuring himself that he’s still all there. “I think so? I don’t think anything’s broken. What the _hell_ was that thing?”

“A ghost,” Sam answers curtly, then turns to Dean. “We need to go back outside, make sure it’s gone for now. It shouldn’t attack more than once a night if it’s sticking to its patterns but it’s already strayed from its haunting grounds. We can’t take any chances.”

“Right.” Dean nods. “Eli, stay here.”

Eli just nods wordlessly this time.

They step outside again but there’s no mist around, no chill in the air. The streetlight shines innocently, bathing the alley in an artificial glow.

The ghost is gone.

They drive Eli home. He sits in the backseat, staring quietly out the window the entire ride. The gash on his forehead has stopped bleeding but his face is an ashen pale, making the streaks of rusty red above his eyebrows stand out starkly. As they reach his home he seems reluctant to get out and Dean makes a flash decision.

“Sam, take the car back to the motel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Eli’s head snaps forwards, eyes meeting Dean’s in the rearview mirror. He doesn’t say anything but the look of gratitude on his face speaks volumes. Dean gets it, he wouldn’t feel safe being alone after a shock like that, either.

They all get out, Eli going to unlock his front door and Sam walking around the car to get in the driver’s seat.

“Stay safe,” Sam mutters.

“Don’t be gross,” Dean mutters back, punching his shoulder.

He follows Eli inside, listening to the purr of the Impala’s engine as she drives away. Eli’s movements are stiff as he shrugs his jacket off and Dean can see the slight tremor in his hands. He turns on the lights in the hallway, reaches for Eli and tugs at his chin in order to examine him. Eli stays still and lets him.

“You won’t need stitches,” Dean decides. “But we’d better get this cleaned up and covered.”

“You’re the expert,” Eli says dryly.

He brings Dean to the bathroom and gets the first aid kit from underneath the sink. Dean directs him to sit down on the edge of the bathtub.

“You’ve done this a lot, huh?” Eli says. “The whole… tending to battlefield wounds.”

Dean wets a washcloth. “I’ve seen my share of blood,” he settles on diplomatically. “Hold still.”

He cups the back of Eli’s head and begins to wipe away at the dried blood on his face, extremely aware of just how close they are. He’s standing between Eli’s legs, their faces just inches apart. It’s so much more intimate than this process needs to be and Dean has no excuse. He feels like a teenager all over again, wanting his friend to kiss him and terrified of what that want means.

“Dean?”

Dean lowers his hand. “Yeah?” he asks, his voice surprisingly rough to his own ears.

Eli’s hand is on the small of his back and Dean has a moment of realization before he pulls him in, craning his neck to meet Dean’s lips in a kiss.

Their first kiss is still vivid in Dean’s memory. It was timid and careful, a kiss between two boys uncertain that they were even allowed to want this.

This kiss is nothing like that. It’s self-assured and confident, sparking a heat in Dean’s gut. Eli kisses like he means it, like there’s nothing he would rather be doing. Dean wants to feel that, wants nothing more than to let himself get lost in it, and for a moment he does.

Then the guilt sets in.

He breaks away.

Eli looks up at him with questioning eyes.

“I’m sorry, I-” Dean swallows. “I can’t. It’s not that I don’t want to, but…”

Eli’s hand lowers, breaking that last bit of contact between them. “Are you with someone?”

“Kind of. I’m not sure if we’re…” Dean sighs, settles on, “It’s complicated.”

He backs away, allowing Eli some breathing space again. The air is thick with tension, a more uncomfortable one than before.

“Thanks for telling me before we had sex, I guess,” Eli finally says.

Dean winces. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Eli runs his hand through his beard. It seems to be a habit he’s picked up some time in the last twenty years. “I’m disappointed but I’ll survive. It’s not even the worst thing to happen to me tonight, no offense.”

“None taken.” Dean scratches his arm, feeling awkward. “I could go?”

Eli shakes his head. “I’ve got a guest bedroom, you can stay there.” He looks up at Dean, gives him a slight smile. “I’m still happy to see you, you know. I always wondered… we didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Dean nods. He still remembers the day they left Des Moines, getting pulled out of class in the middle of the day with no warning. It wasn’t the first time Dad moved them on no notice but it was the first time Dean cared.

He was only able to look at Eli across the room. They couldn’t even talk, much less hug or kiss goodbye.

If things had gone differently, if Dean stayed in Des Moines, he thinks maybe it could have worked out between them. Then again, maybe not. They were only seventeen, neither one of them out to anyone but each other, and Dean’s life was already being messed with by powers way out of his control.

Either way, it’s no use thinking about it now, and they don’t discuss it any further. Once Eli’s injuries are taken care of, he shows Dean to the guest bedroom and they say their goodnights.

Dean is always uneasy sleeping in strange places but there’s some comfort in it being the home of someone he knows. In a way, it reminds him of staying at Jody’s place. Or Bobby’s, back in the day. He still puts his gun underneath the pillow but that’s more force of habit than anything. As he lies down, he checks his phone, feeling another wave of guilt when he sees four new messages from Cas.

Three of them are further apologies. One is a request that Dean let him know he’s okay. Dean shoots off a quick ‘yeah’ in response to that, not feeling up to writing anything else. Uncertain of what he would even say.

It would be a lot simpler if things had worked out with Eli. There’s no going back, though. Dean can’t un-live the past decade, the slow descent of falling for Cas deeper than he thought possible. He can kid himself and say it’s just sex but when it comes down to it, Dean will wait for Cas to come back no matter how many times he leaves.

Maybe that makes him pathetic but he’s way past the point of caring.

When Sam picks him up the next morning, Dean can tell he’s dying to ask him what went down. He doesn’t, though, probably taking Dean’s stony silence as a hint not to pry.

Things with Eli were nice that morning, if a little awkward, and useless as it may be Dean can’t stop thinking about all the what-ifs. It’s making him cranky, reevaluating his whole romantic life so early in the morning.

Sam clears his throat, cutting through the cloying silence. “Leonard Reid, the owner of The Flamingo Longue, agreed to meet up with us in an hour.”

“Cool.”

“I think we’re looking for someone recently deceased,” Sam continues. “If it can’t fully manifest yet then it can’t have been dead for more than a few months.”

“He,” Dean says. “It was definitely a he.”

“Okay, so he can’t manifest yet. I’m guessing he must have had a lot of anger and violent tendencies to go vengeful so fast.”

Dean taps his fingers on the steering wheel, considering this. “I don’t think he’s vengeful,” he finally says. “Just violent. He isn’t taking revenge on the people who frequent this bar, he already hated them when he was alive for who they were.”

“So we’re looking for someone who harassed the patrons when he was alive, which would have been less than a year ago.”

Dean shrugs. “It’s as good a place to start as any.”

Leonard Reid seems skeptical of them, though that may be because his default expression seems to be a scowl. He certainly wouldn’t blame him for distrusting authority figures, not with the piss-poor job the police have been doing of keeping his patrons safe.

Still, he sits down with them at the bar, offering each of them a beer before pouring himself a glass of whiskey. It’s barely noon but Dean keeps his mouth shut. He’s been there before.

Reid takes a deep swig of his whiskey, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I thought we were past this,” he says hoarsely. “I didn’t expect – I’ve been in this business for twenty goddamn years. We shouldn’t still be at this stage of fearing for our safety.”

Dean drops his gaze, stomach tightening uncomfortably. He can’t deal with this, the wretched sadness in the man’s voice, that all-too familiar fear.

“You haven’t had problems like this before?” Sam asks.

“Nothing like this,” Reid says. “Nothing violent. Sometimes assholes come by to hassle my customers or shout shit at them in the street outside. We had to throw a couple of them out last month but they weren’t dangerous, just drunk and stupid.”

“How about earlier?” Sam asks. “Even any incidents as far as a year back could give us something to work with.”

Reid hums, staring into his tumbler as he thinks. “We’ve had some protesters. Some Christian nutjob types, telling us we were going to hell and such. One of them stuck around for a while, stood on the corner and preached. He tried to come into the bar a few times but I had the bouncers on the lookout for him.” He takes another sip of the whiskey. “Couldn’t be him, though. He had a heart attack last year, may he rot in peace.”

Sam and Dean exchange looks.

“You got a name?” Dean asks.

Martin Brooks.

Died of a heart attack seven months ago, buried in Windsor Cemetery, survived by three siblings but no children. His obit is written by a member of his church, and included is a picture of a very familiar face. Even though it was mostly a blur, Dean isn’t going to forget that hateful sneer.

The cemetery is small so it doesn’t take them long to find the right grave.

Unfortunately, that means they’ve got seven hours to kill until sunset.

They go back to the motel, kick around for a while. Sam does something on his laptop while Dean watches the TV, aimlessly flipping between channels. He keeps checking his phone out of habit – two new messages from Cas now, both of them non-emergency so Dean only feels slightly guilty in ignoring them.

He knows it’s unfair, seeing as how he’s the one who kissed someone else, but a part of him is really pissed at Cas. If they were a regular couple, if Cas weren’t running off every three days to get himself into new kinds of danger on his own, Dean wouldn’t be in this position. He never would have looked twice at Eli, never would have felt anything but bittersweet nostalgia when meeting him again.

By the time the sun sets, Dean is actually relieved to be going to the cemetery to dig up a grave. At least the manual labor will keep him occupied.

Getting past security is easy enough. The whole thing is easy, actually, manual labor notwithstanding. Sam and Dean have gone through so many salt and burns they can do them in their sleep, and even though the spirit is angry he is unfocused and inexperienced. He only shows up once they’ve got the casket open and between the two of them, they make easy work of keeping him distracted while they torch his bones.

Martin Brooks’ spirit goes out in a burst of flames, hopefully straight to hell.

They should head right out of town. They’ve got a five hour drive ahead of them and Dean does not wanna spend one more night in a motel room than he needs to.

But he already left Eli behind once without saying goodbye.

The lights are on when they pull up by his place. The little yellow rowhouse looks even homier in the dark, lit up from the inside and promising warmth and comfort. It’s a lot cozier than an underground bunker, the person inside much less complicated than what waits for Dean at home.

If only that were what Dean actually wanted.

He rings the doorbell.

Eli answers. He smiles when he sees Dean but it dims once he takes him in. Dean knows he isn’t a pretty picture right now, hair matted with dried sweat and jeans covered in dirt.

“Are you okay?” Eli asks.

“I’m good. Ghost’s gone.”

Eli’s eyes widen. “You killed it? How?”

“Dug up his grave and torched his bones,” Dean answers plainly.

“That’s… huh.”

“Yeah. Job’s done, so we’re heading out of town. I just wanted to come by to-” Dean clears his throat. He can’t say it. “Well, y’know.”

“I see.” Eli crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. He’s about as tall as Dean but standing on the threshold gives him a few extra inches, making Dean have to look up to make eye contact. “So soon?”

“We don’t tend to stick around after.” Dean shrugs. “We go where the job takes us.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“It’s not so bad. We’ve got a homebase now, didn’t used to have that.”

“And you’ve got someone to go home to,” Eli says, tone pointed but not angry.

“If he’s still there, yeah.” Dean ducks his head. “Look, I’m sorry again about – I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

Eli doesn’t say anything to that – no reassurances that it’s fine, no complaints that Dean should have told him sooner. Just heavy, uncomfortable silence.

“I guess we had our chance already,” he finally says.

Dean nods. “I guess so.”

“Stay safe out there.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Dean says, giving Eli a half-hearted smile. “You too, okay?”

“Hey, I’m not the one chasing down ghosts.”

Dean snorts. “That’s fair.”

They stand still for a moment, just looking at each other. Then, struck by a sudden impulse he doesn’t want to deny, Dean cranes his neck upwards, pressing his lips against Eli’s in a quick kiss. Eli grabs his arm, keeping him still for a moment longer before letting him go.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean raises his hand in a wave. “I’ll see you around.”

When he gets back to the car, Eli has already closed his door. Dean climbs inside the Impala, feeling a strange mix of sadness and relief.

This must be what closure feels like.

“What was that?” Sam asks.

Dean starts the engine. “We were just saying goodbye.”

It’s midnight by the time they get back to the bunker. There’s no sign of Cas in the war room or the library and Dean tries to tell himself that he’s not bitterly disappointed.

When he gets to his room, Cas is sitting on the bed. He’s fully clothed, on top of the covers, a book of poems in his hand.

“Hey,” Dean says quietly, closing the door behind him.

Cas puts the book on the nightstand. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you back tonight.”

The implication being that he wouldn’t have made himself at home in Dean’s room if he’d known Dean would be there to witness it. Dean isn’t sure what it says about them but it can’t be good.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here,” Dean admits.

Cas looks him over. Really looks the way only he can do, taking in every minor scrape and speck of dirt. “How did the hunt go?”

“It went well.” Dean drops his duffle by the door, too tired to unpack now. “I met an old friend. An old boyfriend,” he amends, unsure of why, especially because he really does hate that word.

Cas just nods politely, waiting for him to continue, and Dean has a sudden, overwhelming urge to confess everything. Not to get it off his chest, but because he needs to see how Cas will react.

“I almost hooked up with him."

“Oh,” Cas says.

Just ‘oh’.

“That’s it?” Dean asks, anger simmering in his gut. At himself, as much as at Cas. He’s picking a fight for no reason other than to make them both suffer. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

Cas averts his eyes. “What do you want me to say?”

“Something! When humans are in a relationship, they don’t usually go around hooking up with other people.”

"Are we in a relationship?"

The question stops Dean short. He doesn't have an answer; they've never defined themselves in those terms. Never talked about what they're doing together. "I don't know."

He doesn't feel angry anymore, just tired. 

"I need to take a shower," he mutters. "I smell like a gym sock and I've got grave dirt down my buttcrack."

Cas cracks a tiny smile at that. 

"Are you gonna stay the night?"

"If you want me to," Cas answers, achingly sincere.

Dean nods. "Okay. See you in fifteen, then."

Cas' smile softens. "Alright."

By the time Dean gets back from his shower, Cas is back in bed. He's under the covers this time, stripped down for the night. 

Dean crawls in next to him, turning his back to Cas and feeling a surge of relief when Cas huddles in close, wrapping his arm around Dean's waist.

He's just about to drift off to sleep when Cas speaks.

"Dean?"

"Hm?" 

"Please don't sleep with anyone else."

Dean nods once. "Okay. Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Don't leave while I'm asleep."

Cas squeezes him closer, pressing a kiss on the back of Dean's neck. "I won't."

It isn't much. But it's a start.

*

Healthy communication, Dean has learned, is a bitch.

He doesn't think he's ever gotten into so many petty arguments in his life, not even with Sam. Turns out, he's not so great at saying what he means, Cas will take everything in the worst way, and they both have a tendency to hold grudges. 

They get into a belated argument about Eli two weeks after Des Moines. Rather than apologize, Dean finds himself arguing technical definitions and how they weren't really together at the time so it doesn't count as cheating.

They end up having angry sex right on the kitchen counter. Most of their arguments end in sex, which Dean is pretty sure doesn't count as healthy communication but at least it puts them in a forgiving mood after.

They're working on it. 

They still spend a lot of time apart but not nearly as much as before. They've even managed to get into a routine of sorts when they're both home, including date nights (which mostly involve hitting up the closest bar and playing pool while flirting outrageously) and movie nights.

Cas gets to pick half the time, so they end up watching a lot of nature documentaries. Dean has learned more about bird mating rituals in the past few months than he ever wanted to know. 

Tonight, though, it is his turn and he is unreasonably nervous about it.

"It's not another cowboy movie, is it?" Cas asks as he sits down on the couch.

"I don't know, are we gonna be watching more of David Attenborough's greatest hits next week?" Dean puts the disc in the player and takes his seat next to Cas. "No, it isn't. Now shut up and watch."

The movie starts playing.

The first scene is a guy with narcolepsy falling asleep on some road in the middle of nowhere.

Dean only half-watches. He keeps looking at Cas, wanting to see his reactions. Cas is actually pretty bad at watching movies in general; he barely pays attention, fiddles with his phone, and asks Dean all sorts of questions that he would know the answer to if he were actually watching.

Not this time. Dean thinks he might be telegraphing how important this movie is to him because Cas watches it with rapt attention, never taking his eyes away from the screen. 

Neither one of them speaks until the credits are rolling.

"So," Dean says, forcefully casual, "what did you think?"

Cas takes a moment to answer. He turns away from the TV for the first time in ninety minutes, and looks at Dean. "I think I understand you better."

It's not the answer Dean was expecting. Heat crawls up the back of his neck and he feels unexpectedly vulnerable. He doesn't know what to say. 

Cas seems to sense his discomfort, because he leans in and kisses him until Dean's heart has calmed. Then he keeps kissing him until Dean's heart is racing again, for completely different reasons. Dean is out of breath by the time they pull apart, feeling light-headed and so full of affection his chest might explode.

"I love you," he mutters. His ears are burning, his voice barely more than a whisper; after everything he still can't say those words without feeling like he's turning himself inside out. 

It's worth it though, when Cas kisses him breathless again and replies, easy as anything, "I love you, too."


End file.
